


light a cigarette for two, too close to get to

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream Sharing, Flowers, Graphic Description, M/M, Surreal, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: He thinks they might be sharing dreams again, but bringing up his dreams would mean... Well. It'd mean admitting to Peter exactlywhathe's been dreaming about.





	light a cigarette for two, too close to get to

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on and off on this for.... months ? ?? i love it and i'm really happy about it so! i hope yall enjoy it too
> 
> title from phoenix's [Drakkar Noir](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/phoenix/drakkarnoir.html) because i'm gay and under attack by rumancek songs

It's the same dream every night.

Roman and Peter are in the same classroom he'd slipped him that note in, but nobody else is there. He slips Peter another note, but he doesn't know what it says.

Every time, Peter reads it, looks at him, and...

Sometimes he smiles. Sometimes he frowns. He cried, once, pathetic and hyperventilating and trying to get out of his desk but unable to.

Usually he smirks. He stands and suddenly there's no other desks besides the one Roman is in -- out of place in some lush garden. They're surrounded by blooming hedges, twined with morning glory and lilac so high it only curves inward and domes hundreds of feet above them.

 _"Roman,"_ Peter always whispers. _"It's okay."_

He keeps saying it, _it's okay it's okay it's okay_ , moving closer and closer. He cups his face and gently closes Roman's eyes with his thumbs, the tips of long nails just barely pressing under his eyebrows.

Then Peter kisses him. 

The stubble against Roman's chin grows soft, like petals, and if he opens his eyes he watches Peter pull away and bite his lip in ecstasy as the vines take him, zipping under his skin through his veins to bloom too-blue and too-purple from his ears, his nose, his mouth, his eyes.

Sometimes Roman screams. Sometimes he starts tearing the flowers out of Peter's skin and Peter _moans_ for it, lost in the sick, wet snaps of stems being pulled apart.

Sometimes Roman pretends he doesn't notice, keeps his eyes shut, and lets the flowers bloom into his mouth, too.

One thing is the same every time, though. Roman wakes up hard or already spilled onto his stomach and still twitching.

It's been a month straight when Roman finally needs to bring it up for his own fucking sanity, huddled in the hallway where they smoke between classes.

"What kind of dreams have you been having lately?" he asks. He passes his cigarette to Peter after he takes a pull -- he meant to get more today, but he had the dream again during a nap and it's thrown him off, and he's down to his last cigarette.

Peter shrugs.

"I dunno. Weird shit, wet dreams, the usual."

Roman laughs, trying not to let his heart pound. 'Wet dreams'? Like the kind where he's suddenly sprouting petals and getting off on having them torn out of him?

"Wet dreams, huh? Can't blow enough loads when you're awake?"

Peter snorts and hands the cigarette back to him. Is he imagining it, or does the tobacco in his lungs taste sort of _floral_ now?

"I mean, I don't know. Does it even count if it's not, like, a sex thing?" He toys with the rings on his fingers like he's _nervous_. "There's nothing 'wet' about the dream itself, I just wake up fuckin' gross."

Roman's heart is pounding anyway as he nods. The last time they shared dreams, it was like puzzle pieces -- they each got different things that made sense together. Was Peter only having part of the same dream as him? Maybe he's just getting ahead of himself, it might not be the same one, anyway.

"Yeah."

"Have you been seeing morning glories?" Roman decides to try. It's inconspicuous enough, right?

Peter freezes.

"Yeah," he admits, slow in a way that makes Roman think Peter might regret answering, but doesn't want to lie in case it's important. "You... You give me a bouquet of them. Morning glories, and some little purple flowers --"

"Lilacs," Roman drones, the name coming to him now that he knows Peter has seen them too. A bouquet? There's never been a bouquet in his dreams.

"Sure," Peter nods. "And for some reason I start eating the petals off of them. And you aren't telling me to stop, or keep going, you're just... Watching me stuff my fuckin' face with flowers."

Roman huffs with him, because it's a ridiculous image, but he feels sick. What the hell does that mean?

"I don't remember the rest," Peter lies.

 _The garden_ , Roman wants to remind him. _The kissing. The vines. Peter, the_ vines _, why are they doing that?_

"Is there a garden?" he asks.

Peter doesn't answer, but that alone tells Roman what he needs to know.

Roman sighs.

"What the fuck, right?"

Peter laughs.

"What about yours?" Peter asks. "What's different for you?"

Roman glances at him, up at Peter instead of glaring at the floor, but he looks relaxed again -- as relaxed as he can be, anyway, while they're both dancing around _why are we dreaming about kissing each other_.

"I never give you a bouquet in mine," he starts. "I pass you a note in class, but I don't know what's written on it because it's already folded up when I get there."

Peter nods.

"I might know what the note says," Peter adds for him, but doesn't offer any suggestions. "What else?"

"There's... There's vines. In the garden."

The cigarette they've been sharing is almost gone, heat radiating close enough that Roman can feel it on the tips of his fingers when Peter hands it to him for the last time, and he drops it and steps on it to put it out.

"Morning glories and lilacs," Roman says, the same as the ones he gave Peter.

Peter nods again.

"And I'm --" he starts, but stops himself. "What do I look like? In the garden?"

Roman's face heats as he remembers. If he pulls away when they kiss, Peter already looks desperate and wanting whether Roman tears the plants away or not, but he's not sure if he should say that.

"The vines are in you," he whispers. "Growing out of you."

Peter's fidgeting with his jewelry; the gentle clinking and shuffling is the only sound in the hallway for a few moments while neither of them speaks, both waiting for the other to start divulging the worse details.

"And?" Peter finally asks. _Are you kissing me? Am I beautiful with all the petals on my skin? Is everything soft?_

"You love it," Roman decides to say. "You stand there with vines pouring out of you and you're moaning like you're...?" He's not sure how to say it. _Like you're cumming? Like you're right on the edge and all I'd have to do is run my fingers over the petals spilling out of your mouth and you'd give me one more beautiful gasp and collapse with how_ good _it is?_

"Yeah," Peter says, because he knows what Roman means. His face is red too, but at least his hair has fallen forward and he can hide behind it, just a little.

Peter might tell Roman, later, that the vines didn't sprout on their own; in his dreams, they followed Roman's fingertips as he trailed his hands down his arms, up his chest -- he feels like he's suffocating and he's going to choke as roots sprout in his lungs and fill out capillaries like they've been poured in. The flowers only spread to his face and start to bloom when Roman cups his cheek and rubs his thumb over his lips, and then the plant creeps up his throat. He's gagging for it, so, so literally, and it's _killing_ him how badly he needs Roman to kiss him. It’s not the flowers making him feel that way, it’s _Roman_.

The bell rings.

Neither of them mentions the kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me on [tumblr](http://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/) (and check my [taking prompts](http://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/tagged/taking%20prompts) tag! if you send me one i might write it!)


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